


Bad Habit

by TheMightyChipmunk



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Oblivious Enjolras, Piningjolras, i love joly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-02
Updated: 2014-06-02
Packaged: 2018-02-03 02:53:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1728461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMightyChipmunk/pseuds/TheMightyChipmunk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras has more of an effect on Grantaire than he ever thought possible and Joly is a good friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad Habit

“Grantaire?” Joly yelled loudly as he walked into their shared apartment. He heard a mumbling coming from the dining room and followed the noise slowly, his stomach sinking because he had been here before, countless nights coming back from dates with Musichetta. It was always the same. The door would be left unlocked, sometimes slightly ajar, the apartment would smell like alcohol and slightly like something sweet and then Joly would find Grantaire slumped over a bottle of wine with that glazed over smile he wore too well. It was the same tonight, but it hurt worse this time. Because Grantaire had been _so good._ The Amis had just thrown him an alcohol-free party, celebrating the fact that he had managed six months without touching a drop. He had been doing fucking awesome, so when Joly turned the corner and saw Grantaire curled up on the window seat in the dining room, Joly wanted to cry.

“Hey Joooollllly.” Grantaire slurred, smiling softly. Joly was by his side in an instant, once he comprehended the wine bottle gripped loosely in R’s fist as well as the empty one at his feet. He grabbed his best friend’s face in his hands and felt his pulse and checked his pupils and then pulled him in for a giant hug that Grantaire returned as much as he could with a small hum. “You’re the best Joly. I love you.”

“I know, R. You tell me often enough. And I love you too. So much, in fact, that I wanna take that bottle from you and move you to the couch. Can you let me do that?” Joly said sweetly, as if he was talking to a five-year-old and he hated it. He hated having to take care of Grantaire when he was _this_ drunk because he knew how amazing he was sober. Joly knew better than anyone how sweet and intelligent and creative and inspiring and caring and capable Grantaire was when he wasn’t stumbling around on impaired senses.

Once Joly had maneuvered Grantaire to their couch, probably the best piece of furniture ever to exist, Grantaire collapsed into a sprawl. He hadn’t let Joly take the wine bottle he was clutching, but that was only because Joly stopped arguing about it when Grantaire went to take a gulp and found the bottle empty (he had stared at it in confusion as he stuck his tongue out for spare drops; it would have been cute if it wasn’t so fucking depressing).

“Grantaire?” Joly asked, knowing his voice was cracking, but also knowing Grantaire would barely be able to register it. He just hummed in response, so Joly continued, “What happened today? Why did you… drink?” Joly was trying to be careful with his words, not to seem too angry or disappointed. He wasn’t either of those things, in actuality, he just didn’t want Grantaire to get the idea that he was. In reality he was just sad. He was sad that his brilliant and beautiful and amazing best friend let himself fall so low and there was nothing he could do but be there to try and help support him through it. Grantaire lolled his head to the side a couple of times until he settled his unfocused gaze on Joly.

“Umm… Apollo.” He muttered and okay, now Joly was mad.

“What?” Joly asked, feeling his anger bubble up. “Please try to explain, Grantaire.”

“I forgot those flyers I promised him. Um, said I’d get ‘em done today. They’re gonna be done tomorrow. He was mad. Called me useless, lazy, unable of living or dying with any sort of passion or conviction. Usual shit, but um _crueler_.” Joly just stared at him, hand intermittently squeezing and releasing the quilt beneath them that Jehan had made them, trying to get a grip on his anger. Grantaire, even through his haze, managed to pick up on Joly’s mannerisms, “Come on, Joly. _Dontbemad_.” He slurred, raising the empty bottle in his fist and smiling that goddam dejected smile that Grantaire had just stopped wearing, the one Joly hated so fucking much, “It’s nothing that isn’t true.”

Joly was livid. He hadn’t been this angry at anyone since that time that guy at that beach called Musichetta a slut for having two boyfriends and he literally ended up in jail for beating the shit out of him. Only for a couple of days because Marius is actually a really good lawyer, but nonetheless, it had taken Bossuet and Grantaire to pull him off of the bastard. It was bad. It was even worse now. He stood up quickly, startling R a little.

“I’m going out.” Joly said, grabbing his jacket off the back of the couch and moving towards the door. He stopped once he heard Grantaire’s noise of indignation.

“No, please Joly. Don’t leave.” He muttered and Joly felt tears prick at his eyes as his heart broke one more time. He turned around quickly and dropped his jacket, deciding he would go and verbally abuse that fucking asshole later. Right now his best friend needed him.

“Okay, R. I’m not going anywhere,” he assured, kissing Grantaire’s sweaty forehead once and then moving to the kitchen, “I’m gonna get you some water, okay? It will help what is already going to be a bitch of a hangover.” Joly muttered that last part to himself. He brought the water back to Grantaire and nestled up next to him. R took the glass and sipped tentatively at it at first before knocking it back in gulps.

“Thanks for taking care of me, Joly.” Grantaire murmured as he settled his head on Joly’s lap and Joly tugged the quilt around the man’s shaking shoulders, “I’m sorry for doing this again.” Grantaire choked out as his chest heaved and Joly felt the anger dissipate as he ran his fingers through his best friend’s hair as he cried himself to sleep.

###

“You _fucking_ asshole.” Joly spat as he stormed into Enjolras and Combeferre’s apartment. The two of them, along with Courfeyrac, Bahorel, and Jehan were sitting in the living room, surrounding a clump of papers that was spread out on the coffee table and they all looked up, surprised, when Joly stomped in. Joly ignored their stares and walked straight up to Enjolras. No one stopped him; they were probably too shocked by normally-happy-and-laughing-Joly seething with anger. So Joly was able to grab Enjolras by the collar and haul him up so that he could punch him hard in the right cheekbone. Practically the second his fist made contact he felt Bahorel pulling him back, his giant arms restraining Joly’s relatively small ones (although, to be fair, everyone was relatively small compared to Bahorel). Everyone in the apartment was standing now, staring at Joly and voicing their surprise and anger. Joly didn’t care. His anger had reached a breaking point on his walk over here, as he thought about what he was leaving back at the apartment, asleep and tucked into bed.  

“Who the fuck do you think you are, Enjolras? You have no goddamn right to talk to anyone like that, let alone him you arrogant prick! I-” Joly could have gone on for a lot longer, but Combeferre was suddenly between Joly and Enjolras’ shocked face. The blonde was still standing, staring at Joly was wide eyes as he held a hand to his face.

“Joly!” Combeferre shouted, “What the hell are you shouting about? Why did you hit Enjolras?”

“Because he’s an arrogant prick!”

“Yeah, we all know that,” Bahorel reasoned from behind Joly, as he was still holding the struggling man back, “But what did he do that made you so mad you had to punch him?” Joly just glared at Enjolras as he tried to gain his bearings. Combeferre stood up a little straighter.

“Joly, you can’t just run in here and-”

“You wanna know what he did? Or more accurately, what he said? I believe the exact words were, ‘Don’t you ever get tired of being the useless cynic who does nothing but bring us down?’” The entire room reacted. Combeferre took a step back as if pushed; Jehan gasped audibly; Courfeyrac groaned; Bahorel’s arms loosened a little; Enjolras blanched. “And you want to know what the worst part is, Enjolras? He thinks it’s all true.” Enjolras shook his head adamantly.

“No. I was tired, angry, stressed-out. Anyone would have noticed that. He caught me at a bad time, he has to know it wasn’t him-”

“Good _God_ , Enjolras, how fucking _ignorant_ are you?” Joly said and this time when he moved forward, Bahorel let him go and Combeferre sat down on the couch, “Do you have _any_ idea the effect that you have on him, the power he lets you have over him? Do you have _any_ idea how much he would give for your approval? Jesus fuck, Enjolras, he would believe any word you said, and your ‘bad time’ was a confirmation of every self-deprecating thought he has ever had, and trust me he’s had a lot of them. And most of them are centered around him being _useless_ and a _burden_. And now, you son of a bitch, your ‘bad time’ has fucked up my best friend so much, that six months have gone to waste.” Joly was screaming and panting by the end and Enjolras recoiled, both from the words and the bite to them.

“He drank?” Enjolras asked quietly and Joly barked out a bitter laugh.

“Yes, Enjolras. I had the lucky fortune today to walk into my apartment and find him nearly passed out drunk and then I got to hold him as he cried himself to sleep, _you condescending douchebag_. And just so you know, this isn’t the first time. This isn’t the first time that I or Eponine or Bossuet or Bahorel or ‘Chetta have had to stay up all night with that _wonderful_ idiot, reassuring him that he is loved and needed, because you couldn’t control your fucking mouth! You have _no_ tact around him, _ever_! Why the fuck is that? Why can’t you admit how good he is? Is it really that hard for you to see around the cynicism? Because it’s not a very thick veil, Enjolras. You have to see and if you do _why are you still so cruel?_ Why are you so callous to the fact that he loves you?” Joly stopped when he felt the tears pricking at his eyes and his phone vibrate in his pocket. He pulled it out and saw Musichetta had texted him that she was with Grantaire and he was still sleeping. A small mercy. He had texted her before he left, not wanting Grantaire to wake up and be alone and think they had abandoned him.

“Six months, Enjolras,” Joly repeated with emphasis, hating that his voice cracked with sadness, “You ruined six months because you never fucking looked close enough at him to _see_. He was finally doing _so good_. He told me once he thought maybe he could be someone you would be proud of.” Joly wiped away a stray tear and then squeezed his eyes shut, schooling his face into a neutral expression, “But no. This wasn’t the first time but it sure as hell is the last. Because I swear to God, if you don’t fucking get your head out of your ass and stop treating my best friend like a second-rate member of this group, if you don’t start respecting him and if you don’t stop using him as your verbal punching bag, then you are never allowed to see him again. I will never let you hurt him like you have ever again. Because he deserves so much better than your scorn, Enjolras. _So fuck you_.” Joly turned around to storm out of the apartment and once he was out the door and down the stairs he looked behind him to see Bahorel and Jehan had followed him.

“We wanna see him.” Bahorel whispered, sounding as broken as Joly felt. Jehan just nodded, eyes watery and bottom lip wobbling. The poet pulled Joly in for a hug and buried his face into his neck.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered and Joly had to fight to not cry.

“Come on.” Joly said, “I don’t want him to wake up and us not be there. Thanks for coming, you guys.” Bahorel just nodded and Jehan squeezed his hand tightly.

“Where the fuck else would I be? Grantaire would do the same for anyone of us.” Bahorel said confidently.

“Courfeyrac would be here, too,” Jehan added sadly, “But Enjolras was pretty distraught. He thought he should stay.”

“Fuck Enjolras.” Bahorel muttered angrily, taking the words right out of Joly’s mouth. Jehan nodded sadly.

“I love him, but he does have a remarkable capacity for being cruel.”

###

Enjolras was hyperventilating. He was sitting on the couch, head between his knees, and he was hyperventilating. Courfeyrac felt helpless as he watched Combeferre sit in front of him, hands on his shoulders, murmuring words in that soft lulling voice that Courf loved so much.

“Oh my God,” Enjolras breathed out loudly, still gasping for breath, “Oh my God. Oh my God. What did I do? What did I do?” his voice was shaking and Courfeyrac moved over to the couch next to him, rubbing a hand comfortingly over his back. Enjolras whimpered and shook his head vigorously.

“Enjolras!” Combeferre snapped, taking their leader’s face in his hands, “Panicking isn’t going to fix anything. Now I need you to breathe slowly. Breathe with me, Enjolras, can you do that for me? In and out… In and out… good, that’s good, Enjolras. Keep doing that for me.” Eventually Enjolras was able to get his breathing under control somewhat, but he still looked way too pale.

“Now can you tell us what you’re thinking?” Combeferre asked finally, moving to sit on the other side of Enjolras now that he wasn’t panicking as much. Enjolras took a shaky breath in and then sobbed out.

“I fucked up. I fucked up and I hurt Grantaire.” The two of them didn’t interrupt, just kept watching him and waiting for him to continue. “I knew that one day I would push too far, I knew one day I would say something wrong and he would get too offended to ever come back, but … I figured he would just be mad. I figured we would both be too proud and too angry to apologize and so he would stop coming. God, I had _no_ idea that-”

“That he loved you?” Courfeyrac offered, taking one of Enjolras hands into his. Enjolras whimpered again and nodded.

“Why am I such an idiot? How could I be so cruel? Even when… you were there Courf, a couple weeks ago when I figured it out… why didn’t you tell me then? Why didn’t you tell me he loved me when I told you I loved him? That would’ve made sense, right?” Enjolras asked, his voice desperate and a little frantic.

“At the time, I thought I t would be best if you figured it out yourself, Enj. I had no idea _this_ would happen… I’m sorry. I felt like I shouldn’t interfere.” Courfeyrac apologized.

“Well that was dumb.” Enjolras whined, not sounding angry or biting, just sad. Courfeyrac slung his arm around his shoulders and squeezed him tight.

“You just need to apologize, right Combeferre?” Courfeyrac reasoned, looking to ‘Ferre for some more support. He nodded and tilted Enjolras’ head so he was looking up at him instead of dejectedly down at his hands in his lap.

“If you love him, you need to make that clear,” Combeferre said, “You need to make it clear to everyone that you’ll stop being cruel. Is it something that you have a tendency towards when provoked or stressed? Yes, but that doesn’t mean it has to control you. Be better. Tell him you’ll be better, for him.” Enjolras stared up at him a moment before nodding his head in agreement.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll just tell him and… oh fuck, he isn’t going to believe me. He probably thinks I hate him. Fuck, he probably hates _me_.” Courfeyrac shook his head and smiled a little.

“There is no way he hates you,” Courfeyrac assured, “but yeah, you should probably give it some time. Maybe … three or four days.” Combeferre looked at him with a raised eyebrow, but Courf just shook his head.

“Okay yeah. Three days. I think I’m gonna buy him Panera. He likes Panera.”

“That’s a good idea. He loves their red velvet cupcakes.”

“As much as he loves me?”

###

Courfeyrac walked with impressive determination through the streets, navigating the twists and turns solely off memory as he tried to find Grantaire’s apartment building. It had been two days since the E-R fiasco, and Courf would now engage is plan. He called it _Operation Joly 2.0_ in his head. Not out loud, of course (not counting Combeferre), he wasn’t a complete dork.

Anyway, back to the impressive determination. It was impressive because as he walked up the stairs towards the apartment he thought he was 99% was the right one, he was very nervous. He clutched the notebook tightly to his side and tried to draw on his inner-Enjolras. He wasn’t usually the one who gave moving speeches to a crowd of skeptical listeners. That was all Enjolras’ thing. And it wasn’t that Courfeyrac was afraid of public speaking, he just wasn’t as practiced. He was afraid in the heat of the moment he would lose all eloquence and end up looking like a dweeb. He was just hoping that he would have enough heartfelt emotion for his best friend that he would be able to do this effectively. He knocked loudly on the door and stood up a little straighter.

“Courfeyrac?” Jehan said as he answered the door, sounding pleasantly surprised, “What are you doing here?” Courfeyrac pushed past him, not unkindly, and walked into the living room, where the same group present a few nights ago as well as Bossuet and ‘Chetta were sitting on the ground and on the couches.

“Everyone. I gave it a few days and I am here to talk about Enjolras.” Pretty much everyone but Grantaire, Jehan, and Courfeyrac gave a collective groan, to which Courfeyrac responded with a vehement glare.

“Grantaire got his best friend to defend him. I thought it was only fair that Enjolras now gets _his_ best friend to defend _him_. So all of you leave or shut the fuck up and listen,” Courfeyrac practically yelled, finding it easier than he thought it would be to capture everyone’s attention, “Good. So, I’ve known Enjolras since the third grade. I know literally everything about him, probably even more than he knows about himself. But one thing that not many people now about is this.” Courfeyrac held up the notebook next to him and everyone sort of leaned in closer to take a look.

“I’ve seen that before.” Musichetta said, wagging her finger at it and furrowing her brow in thought, “Yeah, Enjolras is always writing in that after meetings, when I’m cleaning up. Sometimes even before it.” Courfeyrac nodded once.

“Yes. He literally always has it with him. And he is also really fucking weird and secretive about it. You know how we all know Grantaire has his sketchbook and he rarely let’s anyone touch it or see inside where he keeps all of his sketches of Enjolras, among other things? This is Enjolras’ sketchbook. Except he doesn’t sketch, because he was no artistic inclination ever. No, he writes. I would call it a diary if it wasn’t so… Enjolras. The first half of this rather sizeable notebook consists of just things he wants or needs to remember. But the second half is where he writes all of the thoughts and feelings and experiences that he doesn’t understand.

“Because the other thing I know about Enjolras, is that he is ridiculously emotionally stunted and he is also painfully aware of that. He doesn’t understand personal interaction all that well and he does try to fix that … in his own Enjolras-y type of way. But he still struggles and that’s why the second half of this book has a lot more writing. This is actually a compilation of notebooks,” Courfeyrac said as he held the book up and rotated it from side to side, “Enjolras had to find a guy who could unbind it and then re-bind it and add more pages so that he would keep them altogether.

“Anyway, about three weeks ago, Enjolras came to me with this book. I was confused because I had always wondered about it but he never let anyone look into this book. I tried to borrow some paper from it once and he yelled at me for ten minutes about respecting boundaries and buying my own fucking school supplies. And yet he let me read it. He wanted me to help him understand what was going on in his head, because apparently I am much better at emotions than he is, not that it is hard to be. I read the book. And I think you should too, R.” Grantaire gaped at him and Courfeyrac made a poignant effort not to look anywhere but him.

“Why?” R asked softly. Courfeyrac sighed loudly.

“Listen, R. I could do the easy thing and look at you and tell you that Enjolras is in love with you. I could tell you that fucking 85% of this stupid notebook is about _you_ and how hard it is for him to understand you and how badly he wants to and how much he admires you, but you won’t believe me,” Courf explained with a smile before tossing the book in Grantaire’s lap gently, “I marked the pages you should read. Don’t read all of it because… well there is a lot of personal stuff in there. But… He’s just not good at this. But he is also _really great_ , so please don’t give up on him just yet.

“He’s probably going to be around tomorrow. I told him to give you a few days to settle before he came over to apologize so just… read that, please, before he comes over. I’m gonna leave now because… you probably don’t want me around, so…” he moved to grab his jacket and move to the door but he stopped once, “And I know you could probably tell yourself that’s fake but come on. I think you know us better than that.” Courfeyrac reasoned with what he hoped was his usual friendly grin. Grantaire and the entire rest of the room stared back at him with wide eyes as he turned and left.

###

“Goddamn it, Courfeyrac! What did you do with it?” Enjolras yelled as Courfeyrac bounded into his and Combeferre’s apartment. Courfeyrac unwound his scarf slowly and didn’t meet his eyes. Enjolras felt his knees buckle a little, swaying him back and forth almost comically.

“You didn’t.” he whispered. He thought he was going to be sick. He was probably going to be sick. “You showed him? Courf, how _could_ you?” Courfeyrac was at his side in an instant, running soothing hands over his back. Enjolras didn’t push him away because it was Courf and he was his best friend but he almost did. Because there was no way Grantaire wouldn’t hate him now. Who would want to love Enjolras when _that_ was how he treated the people he loved?

“He’s going to hate me.” Enjolras said flatly, with sad realization. Courfeyrac shook him by the shoulders and looked straight into his.

“Grantaire will never hate you.” Courfeyrac started but Enjolras was already moving past him. He grabbed a coat off the rack and ignored Courf’s protestations until the man literally grabbed his arm.

“Enjolras, no-”

“Don’t Courf. I have to see him.” He ran off then, leaving behind Courf’s wide eyes as he braced himself against the cold wind and ran off towards Grantaire’s apartment.

###

Grantaire had politely asked everyone to leave after Courfeyrac had. They all begrudgingly obliged, but Grantaire barely registered their departure as he stared at the dark red notebook with pink sticky notes poking out of it that he was sure were the work of Courfeyrac. He fingered the edges slightly before taking a deep breath and folding open a page. The first one he saw was enough to make him dramatically exhale the breath he hadn’t even known he had been holding. It was a picture of him, from a few months ago when he had a thing with Montparnasse for a little bit. In the picture he was wearing ‘Parnasse’s leather jacket and aviator sunglasses, holding a cigarette between his lips with Gavroche on his lap. Jehan had taken it and used it for one of his photography classes because apparently the dimensions and lighting were interesting. Grantaire didn’t get the appeal, but Enjolras, underneath the picture had written _why does this make me upset? It’s a beautiful picture but… Grantaire doesn’t look right. I don’t like it._

The next page Courf had marked was longer. It was titled _Grantaire_ and it was apparently written right after a fight that the two of them had. Grantaire remembered the fight, vaguely. It wasn’t one of Grantaire’s more memorable ones, but apparently it stuck with Enjolras. They had asked him to go speak at a school or something, to encourage the continuation of and student involvement in the arts program. Grantaire had insisted he wasn’t the right person for the job, that they should send Feuilly or Jehan instead. So, Enjolras wrote down every reason he thought Grantaire had been wrong. It went from stuff like _why won’t the idiot accept that he’s good at something?_ to _Why does he go by R? Why minimize his name to the least assuming thing it could possibly be, one letter? Grantaire is such a great name, why would he diminish that?_ to _I don’t know how to make him see how capable he is, how inspiring and talented and good. All I seem able to do is offend him and I don’t know how to stop that because he deserves so much more than that._ Grantaire didn’t know what to make of it.

That was pretty much what all of the pages Courfeyrac had bookmarked for him where centered on, Enjolras’ thoughts on Grantaire and all the things he had wanted to say to him but never could. Grantaire got the sinking feeling that he was looking where he shouldn’t be. If Enjolras had wanted him to know these things then he would have told him himself. Grantaire was about to stop reading, to close the book with shaking hands but he something made him skim the page the last sticky note was marking.

_I’m in love with Grantaire._ The page started, proceeding to detail the conversation and debate he had with Courfeyrac. Skimming the page, Grantaire’s jaw dropped comically before he immediately jumped up, grabbed his keys and ran to his front door, resolute to sprint as fast as he could to Enjolras’ and … do _something_. However, the second he swung open his front door he saw Enjolras, hair wind-blown and cheeks flushed red, hand raised and poised to knock.

“Enjolras.”

“Grantaire.” They both stared at each other for a couple moments longer before Enjolras slowly lowers his gaze to the notebook under Grantaire’s arm. His eyes widen and before he had time to run away, Grantaire opened the door a little wider and stood to the side, letting Enjolras into the apartment. He walked in slowly and cautiously so Grantaire led him into the living room and sat down on the recliner so Enjolras could have the couch to himself, giving him a little space.

“So you read it?” Enjolras asked as he fiddled with the sleeves of his jacket. He looked adorable and Grantaire couldn’t help the smile that was spreading across his face.

“Not all of it. Just the pages about me.” Grantaire said softly. Enjolras groaned loudly.

“Shit, I am so sorry, R. God, you must hate me. I … I … ugh I am going to kill Courfeyrac.” He said rapidly, clenching his hands against the couch cushion. Grantaire stood up quickly and moved to sit next to him. He reached out for one of Enjolras’ hands and held it between both of his own.

“I don’t hate you,” he whispered, running his fingers over Enjolras’ hand soothingly, “And don’t kill Courf, please. He was just trying to help.” Grantaire added softly, at which Enjolras glared a little. Grantaire smiled a little and then reached over to grab the book off of the coffee table, still keeping Enjolras’ hand in one of his.

“Can I ask you something?” he asked Enjolras quietly. He nodded a little skeptically. “Would you mind… explaining this please?” Grantaire turned to the last marked page and watched Enjolras face pale. He tried to pull his hand back but Grantaire gripped it a little tighter.

“What do you need to know? It says it all right there.” He snapped, staring fixedly at their joined hands. Grantaire laughed a little and nodded.

“You’re right. It’s probably just me being selfish but… I’d like to hear you say it out loud.” Enjolras’ eyes shot up to Grantaire’s and he wanted to grin at how _innocent_ he looked.

“What?”

“I’d like to hear it out loud.” Enjolras laughed softly and shook his head a little as if he couldn’t believe it.

“You… _don’t_ hate me?”

“Why would I ever hate you, Enjolras? After you wrote all those wonderful things?”

“But Grantaire… I also said those horrible things! Grantaire, I treated you horribly and good God, I mean if that’s how I treat you when I love you why would you ever want to be around me-”

“Shut up. Say that again.” Grantaire grinned and scooted a little closer to Enjolras on the couch. Enjolras looked at him with wide eyes before realization spread across his face and he flushed red.

“I love you.” He whispered, his voice sounding a little happier.

“One more time?” Enjolras groaned and rolled his eyes but was still smiling.

“I love you, Grantaire.”

“I like the sound of that, surprisingly.” Grantaire teased.

“But, R-” Grantaire took his face in his hands and leaned their foreheads together.

“If the next thing you are going to say is anything self-deprecating than I swear I am going to punch you in the mouth. Probably with my lips, but nonetheless. Don’t do it, kiddo. Whatever you feel bad about, whatever you said, I forgive you.”

“Grantaire, I made you relapse-”

“I don’t care. And now I guess you’ll just have to be with me for the next _seven_ months to keep me sober to make up for it,” Grantaire said with a smile before adding, a little more nervously, “Right?” Enjolras grinned at him and nodded, eyes watering a little.

“That sounds perfect. I _am_ sorry Grantaire. And I will be better, I promise.” Enjolras said fervently, grabbing Grantaire’s hand in his own and gripping it tightly. Grantaire brought their hands to his lips and kissed it softly.

“I love you so much.” Enjolras smiled widely but after a moment he narrowed his eyes a little and pursed his lips slightly. 

“I love you too. But no. No, I’m sorry but you cannot forgive me this easily!” Enjolras argued, making Grantaire raise his eyebrows in surprise, “You can’t keep doing this.” He added softly.

“Doing what?”

“Diminishing yourself! You can’t keep lessening how much you deserve in order to compromise with me. This is never going to work if you just let me win-”

“Fuck, Enjolras, I am never going to _‘let you win’_.”

“I know, I know, that isn’t how I meant it. It’s just… you can’t forgive me yet. I don’t deserve it.” Grantaire rolled his eyes and sat back against the couch cushions, staring at Enjolras appraisingly.

“Okay, fine. Um, in order to earn my forgiveness… you have to… do my laundry. For like six months? Is that good enough?” Enjolras stared at him, deadpanned for a few seconds before Grantaire laughed, “Yes, I love that, actually. Fuck, you don’t even do your _own_ laundry, do you? This is going to be awesome. And _you_ have to do it, too. Don’t make Courf or Combeferre do it for you.”

“I am quite capable of doing laundry, Grantaire.” Enjolras snapped, flushing red. Grantaire just smiled and nodded.

“Well you have six months to prove that to me my friend.” Enjolras still glared as he leaned back as well, sidling up close to Grantaire’s side.

“You’re lucky I love you.”

“Yeah. I really am, aren’t I?”  

**Author's Note:**

> so yeah the ending is probably wayyy to easy... but i am a little bit of a baby when it comes to writing angst for these two because I WANT THEM BOTH TO BE HAPPY ALL THE TIME 
> 
> hope you enjoyed it!! :D thanks for reading!!!!! <3 <3


End file.
